


Fuego

by Trash



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 09:43:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s so hot. And everything smells like smoke, like burning, like his flesh his on fire. And he’s so, so hard. He can’t hear what Rob is saying because he is picturing him on his knees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fuego

When they stop Chester is asleep, and by the time he wakes up the bus is empty and he thinks, what a bunch of assholes. He grabs his shades and pulls them on moodily, stomping down the bus and out into the heat of the midday sun. He squints, glances around blindly until he spots Rob by the side of the road, bent over.

He can’t help himself, stalks up to Rob and slaps his ass. The drummer jumps up with a surprised squeak and blushes bright red when he sees Chester’s grinning face. “You’re a douchebag.”

“What you doing?”

Rob nods at the flower bed by his feet. “I’ve never seen these flowers before.”

“What, and you know every flower in the world, do you?”

Rob glares at him indignantly. “No,” he says, not snapping because Rob never snaps, ever. “No. But I’ve never seen these anywhere before. And they smell like fire.”

“Fire doesn’t have a smell.”

“Fine; they smell like smoke, Mr. Pedantic.”

Chester rolls his eyes and goes to walk away but Rob grabs his wrist and tugs him back, pushing his head down to smell the flowers that smell like smoke, not like fire and the smell is so overwhelming Chester sneezes.

“Sorry.” Rob says, blushing again.

Chester sneezes again and waves his hand in Rob’s face as if to say, whatever, leave me alone. He sneezes so hard that his shades fall from his face and hit the ground, one lens smashing. “Fuck,” he mutters. They were his favourite shades. And now he can’t stop sneezing because of the fucking weird flowers.

He bends down to grab them and staggers slightly when he straightens up, all the blood gone from his head. All he can think is that he should have just stayed in bed.

He stomps back to the bus to sulk. Cradling his broken shades in his hands he goes back to his bunk, curling up in the darkness. Whatever. Flowers are stupid. And if he stays inside he won’t need his shades anyway, and he’ll not have sweat patches unlike a certain emcee who seems not to mind stinking of BO all the live long day.

He must fall asleep because the next thing Chester knows is they’re driving, the bus chugging steadily along and someone somewhere has music playing quietly. He rolls onto his back and takes a deep breath. He must have had a sex-dream because he’s rock hard already and there’s really no other way to deal with this than to slide a hand down his stomach, pushing it into his pants to jerk off.

Usually it’s Brad he fantasizes about – the guitarist’s body bent over a table somewhere as Chester ploughs him from behind. But this time it’s Rob, his strong arms pinning Chester face down and his breath heavy against his neck as he pushes in.

It’s hard to stay quiet, and Chester feels like this is most definitely going to be the hottest orgasm he has ever had. But then. It isn’t. He comes hard, but it’s purely a physical reaction. He’s still out of breath, and he’s still trapped in the fantasy of being trapped under Rob.

“Fuck.” He mutters. This is so awkward. He had been looking forward to strutting up the aisle to the bathroom looking smug and satisfied to annoy Phoenix who refuses to masturbate on tour and Mike who always gets interrupted half way through then can’t get it back up.

But now he has to slide out of his bunk awkwardly, his dick still hard in his pants but now he has the added discomfort of having creamed himself. He waddles up the aisle unhappily, grateful that nobody pulls back their curtain to question him.

He’s so fucking horny. He’s just wondering if jerking off in the shower will be any better when he opens the bathroom door to be faced with Rob, a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair messy and wet and oh. Fuck.

Fuck. God.

Chester steps in slowly, ignoring Rob’s confused and somewhat violated expression. He closes the door behind him, slides the bolt across.

“Chester,” Rob laughs, “the bathroom is kind of occupied.”

He’s so hot. And everything smells like smoke, like burning, like his flesh his on fire. And he’s so, so hard. He can’t hear what Rob is saying because he is fascinated by his lips, pictures them wrapped around his cock. He wonders what Rob looks like on his knees.

“I need you to me a favour.” Chester says as casually as he can.

“Can I put some pants on first?”

“No.” Chester says, his voice low and predatory and he can’t stop himself from taking a step closer. Rob shrinks a little, pressing himself back toward the shower cubicle.

“What are you doing?” Rob whispers as Chester steps forward until they’re pressed together. “Y-your shirt is getting wet.”

“I need…you have to fuck me.”

“What?” Rob squeaks and blushes furiously, ducking his head and looking anywhere but at Chester. “I…no, I can’t…I…no…I just can’t.”

“But you want to, right? I’m really flexible.”

Rob swallows hard and grabs Chester’s shoulders firmly, pushing him back. This only makes things worse, with Chester wanting to be bruised. That’s what he wants, he decides – he wants Rob to abuse him til he’s black and blue. He needs to feel this.

“Just take a shower,” Rob says, “and jack off like the rest of us do. And don’t talk to me until you’re…not like this.”

Chester realises he must look crazy. His hair still messy from sleep and his shirt twisted and his pants tented, the top button unfastened. Judging by Rob’s expression, he is less than attractive, but he can’t stop himself. “Please,” he begs, “please just suck me off. Please. Fuck me. Anything. Hit me. Please.”

Rob shifts his weight and chews his lip. “Chester…”

“No. Look. This isn’t…don’t take this mean anything. Really. I just. God.” He steps closer again, invading Rob’s personal space and hoping for a slap. “I need this.”

“So you just…you just want me to get you off?”

“Yes! Please! I’ll fucking pay you.”

Rob glares at him. “Thanks but I’m really not a whore.”

The expression on Rob’s face, the aggravated look about him, it’s making Chester harder. So he pushes his luck. “Are you sure?” He asks. “Because I heard that you followed Mike into his hotel room one night and fucked him until the sun rose. Then you just left. That seems pretty whore-ish behaviour to me.”

“Shut the fuck up, Chester.”

“Or what?”

Rob doesn’t say anything for a moment that seems to stretch out for years. Suddenly, he reaches out and grabs a fistful of Chester’s shirt, spinning him round and dragging him into the shower cubicle. He pushes him face first against the wall and tears at his pants until he can pull them down.

Chester steps out of them eagerly but keeps his face pressed hard against the wall, wishing for a bruise. Rob pulls off his shirt in one effortless tug, the thin material tearing all the way up from the bottom to the collar. It cost four hundred dollars, but Chester couldn’t care less.

“Are you going to hurt me?”

Rob turns the dial on the shower until hot water falls over them both. He throws his towel out into the bathroom and shuts the cubicle door behind him. “I said shut up.”

“You said shut the fuck up, actually.” Chester corrects him as he reaches behind, pulling Rob against him, desperate to feel the drummer’s skin against his own.

Rob doesn’t reply, just pushes two fingers into Chester’s body without warning. The pain is immediate and sudden and Chester cries out, pushing back against Rob desperately. The drummer adds another finger and shoves them deeper until Chester is sobbing in pleasure.

“Fuck. More. Please…I need…you have to be rough.”

“I plan to be.”

Rob pulls out his fingers and fumbles for a second. Chester wraps his fist around himself, but it’s as if his dick has gone numb. He doesn’t feel a thing. Until Rob shoves into him, that is. The burn intensifies, and he feels like he might explode. The drummer pulls out and slams back in roughly, his hands gripping Chester’s hips tight enough to bruise, his finger nails breaking the skin.

“Fuck,” Chester gasps. “Fuck. Oh, God. Oh, yes.”

Rob leans in, sinking his teeth into the pale flesh of Chester’s neck. “Shut up,” he hisses in warning. “Everybody can fucking hear you.”

But that’s exactly what Chester wants. He wants somebody to walk in and see them. He wants the press to find out and finger them for it. He wants to die right here and now, and he feels like he might. Rob’s breath is erratic and hot against Chester’s ear and he moans lowly as his thrusts get even harder.

Rob’s hand moves from his hip to his cock, jerking him off quickly. Every nerve in Chester’s body feels alive where Rob touches him and he cries out, all but screaming Rob’s name as he comes. And this time it’s relief. It’s like somebody putting out a fire. And Rob follows him over the edge with a groan, low and animalistic.

For a while afterwards they stand there, Rob still inside Chester and their bodies pressed close together as they try to catch their breath.

“I-I’m not normally like that.” Rob murmurs, embarrassed.

Chester laughs breathlessly and reaches behind him with one hand to stroke Rob’s face. “Maybe there’s something in the water.”

Later, though, Rob starts sneezing uncontrollably. And that night Chester hears him fucking Mike in the hotel room next door. And for whatever reason he thinks of the flowers that smelled like burning, not like fire.


End file.
